


Curtain Call

by IAmANonnieMouse



Series: Inception Bingo 2020 [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Established Relationship, Inception Bingo, M/M, Social Media, Twitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25669102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: “Hello, world,” he hears Eames say. He turns. Eames is smiling into his phone like a fool. Is he on facetime? “This is my first ever Instagram live, so do bear with me, loves, sorry. I only made the bloody thing a couple months ago, and there’s so many fun buttons!”Oh, God,Arthur thinks. He walks faster.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Series: Inception Bingo 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849510
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66
Collections: Inception Trope/Kink Bingo 2020





	Curtain Call

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rudimentaryflair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudimentaryflair/gifts).



> Returning to my Voice!Verse for this final Bingo fic, for the _Curtain Fic_ square on my card. Dedicated to rudi for re-reading this verse just the other day and reminding me how lovely it was <3
> 
> For those of you who haven't read my Voice!Verse, all you really need to know is Arthur is a music producer and was a coach on The Voice, where he met Eames.

They stumble into their apartment at some ungodly hour, giddy and exhausted. 

“Home sweet home,” Eames warbles.

Arthur snorts and hangs up his coat. It’s been at least a year since they’ve been home, since the tour first started. It’s weird how strange it feels to be here, instead of some generic hotel room.

It’s nice, though.

Even if Arthur can’t remember ever buying that bulky table in their kitchen. That’s a problem for Future Him, after he’s had a good night’s sleep. 

He and Eames beeline for the bedroom and collapse in a heap. 

“Love you, darling,” Eames mumbles, before rolling over and taking all the blankets with him.

Arthur can’t help his smile.

*

They don’t get a full night’s sleep. Instead, they’re woken up at six in the morning, as the sun starts shining in their floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Arthur,” Eames whines. “Turn the light off.”

Arthur shoves his head under his pillow. “It’s too far away.”

“Arthur.”

“Eames.”

“I want to go back to bed.”

Arthur sighs. “Me, too.”

_“Arthur.”_

“When did you turn into such a prima donna?” Arthur asks, but he drags himself out of bed and pulls the curtains shut. He blinks. “Oh my god.”

“Wha’?” 

“Eames. Did we pick out these curtains?”

Eames’ head appears from under the covers, hair adorably mussed. Arthur reminds himself not to get distracted. He can coo over Eames’ hair later. 

“Darling,” Eames says slowly, “why are our curtains the color of fresh puke?”

Arthur nods. “That’s what I want to know, too.”

Eames blinks. “Come back to bed. We’ll deal with it later.”

That, Arthur thinks, is a fabulous idea. He crawls back into bed and falls asleep with his nose pressed into Eames’ mussed hair.

*

So, it turns out they don’t have any groceries. After checking all their cabinets and the fridge, they have discovered that they own a can of soup, a bag of disgustingly moldy bread, and ice cubes.

“Breakfast out?” Eames offers, smiling wide. Arthur’s still too sleep-deprived to fully appreciate the look, so he shuffles closer and drops his head against Eames’ chest.

“But there’s people out there,” he whines.

Eames kisses his forehead. “And also food. And curtains that don’t look like puke.”

Arthur considers that. “You raise an excellent point.”

They get dressed and go outside.

*

Arthur thinks he should be used to this by now, the whole _fans seeing you in the street and screaming_ thing. But he forgets, all the time, because when he’s with Eames it’s like he’s in this quiet, peaceful bubble where he only has to worry about silly things like puke-colored curtains and what their next song should be.

But outside. Well. Like he said, there’s _people_ out here. And he never wants to be _rude,_ because they’re the reason he has a career, and they’re always nice and respectful and supportive, but sometimes he would like to be able to walk down a street without wondering how many people are looking at him.

Before they released their second album and went on tour and did the interview circuit again and watched their album hit platinum, most people noticed Eames, but not Arthur. 

That’s all in the past, though, and Arthur gets recognized just as often as Eames does. The two of them together? They’re lucky to make it out their front door.

They eventually get to the grocery store, and Arthur grabs a shopping cart. He hands Eames the list and says, “Here, be my scribe?”

“But I’m going to be busy,” Eames says.

Arthur pauses and glances at him, frowning slightly. 

Eames holds up his phone. 

Arthur arches a brow.

“Instagram,” Eames says, like that explains everything. 

It doesn’t.

Arthur shakes his head and starts down the nearest aisle. He’ll grab the list back from Eames at some point. But he can get the basics first.

“Hello, world,” he hears Eames say. He turns. Eames is smiling into his phone like a fool. Is he on facetime? “This is my first ever Instagram live, so do bear with me, loves, sorry. I only made the bloody thing a couple months ago, and there’s so many fun buttons!”

 _Oh, God,_ Arthur thinks. He walks faster.

“We got home at an ungodly hour this morning. Last night? Who knows. Anyway, we’re home from tour, and ready to sleep, but we got woken up by the sun! It was horrible.”

Arthur glances around the store as he reaches the eggs. Strangely enough, nobody seems to have noticed them yet.

“And Arthur bravely got out of bed to pull the curtains for us, but it turns out the curtains are the most hideous colour imaginable.” There’s a pause. “No offense to whoever owned the flat before us. Actually… darling?”

Arthur glances at him. 

“Did _we_ buy those curtains?”

Arthur shrugs. 

“Hm. Maybe we repainted the room or something.” Eames looks at his phone again. “Regardless, we’re definitely getting new curtains today. But first! We need food! And that is why we are here on this lovely… whatever day of the week it is, _morning._ How goes the shopping, darling?”

Arthur shakes his head. Eames is looking at him expectantly, so he bites back a smile and says, “Marvelously.”

Eames flips around his camera and shows the public the single carton of eggs in their shopping cart.

“Hm,” Eames says. “I feel like we’re missing a few things.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and pushes the cart forward. “You know this means there’s going to be a swarm of fans in this store any minute.”

“Darling, they can hear you,” Eames says in a stage whisper. “And I don’t think it’s nice to talk about our fans like they’re angry hornets.” 

Arthur bites back a laugh and heads for the milk. “What’s next on our list?” he asks.

“Curtains,” Eames answers promptly.

“No, Eames, the shopping list.”

“Oh.” Eames fumbles his phone and the paper and manages to get it unfolded. “Hm. I see… many things, actually, but no marmite.”

Arthur checks the dates on the milk and grabs the best one. “I’m not buying marmite. It’s disgusting.”

Eames gasps. “Darling. How could you?”

“You don’t even eat it!”

“It is the most amazing thing in the world!” Eames cries.

Arthur looks at him. 

“Erm, except for you, darling, light of my life, shelter in storm, et cetera, et cetera. Erm. Obviously.”

Arthur looks at the phone still clutched in Eames’ hand. “You’re still streaming, you know. And I’m still not buying the marmite.”

Eames pouts and raises the phone to his face again. “This is what I get for living with a filthy American,” he declares.

Arthur heads for the produce section.

“Anyway, my loves, I should probably go help Arthur with the shopping. I will keep you all updated on the color of our new curtains, but until then, stay safe and eat marmite!”

Eames catches up with him quickly. “How was that?”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Arthur says, hiding his grin.

“Well, Mal told us to be more interactive with our fans, so check. And hopefully they won’t be so eager to track us down for a couple days, because they’ll be too busy fangirling over the livestream. You _know_ tumblr is making gifsets of it as we speak.”

Arthur nods. “I do. I also know that all of our fans in the area have spontaneously realized they need groceries.”

Eames grins and kisses his cheek. “Divide and conquer. I’ll take this half of the list, you grab the rest. We’ll be out of here before the swarm can catch us.”

Arthur smiles. He knows Eames loves signing and taking selfies with the swarm. But Eames knows that Arthur hates it.

“Come along, darling,” Eames says, smiling fondly. “TIme waits for no man.”

*

That evening, as they sprawl on their bed with their new curtains covering the window, Eames cackles and shoves his phone in Arthur’s face.

 _OMG ARMES ARE SUCH #RELATIONSHIPGOALS_ the tweet reads. _(But yeah, Arthur, Eames is right. Marmite is the BEST_

“The public has spoken,” Eames says. “Marmite or bust.”

Arthur smiles and deliberately doesn’t tell Eames about the Marmite he snuck into their shopping cart. Eames will see it in the morning when he goes to make toast and, knowing him, will eat it straight out of the jar.

He’s already picturing the tweet he’ll send. 

_This is what I get for loving an Englishman. pic.twitter._


End file.
